


I Love this Bar

by sbdrag



Series: Stupid Cranky Boyfriends [1]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: M/M, One Shot, adam is a mischief maker, frank gets drunk, i mean not directly, suggested by others, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbdrag/pseuds/sbdrag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Adam goes to a bar to get out of the rain and decides to stay for a while, he get more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love this Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post by user pathopharmacology: http://pathopharmacology.tumblr.com/post/73594880112/sometimes-it-makes-me-really-sad-theres-no-fic-in
> 
> (spoilers there, kind of, i guess)
> 
> and yes i named it for the song

It was a dive. Billiards, darts, a bar in the middle of the room to accommodate more patrons. There was a dance floor, too, tucked into one corner. Trying to bring in a younger demographic, Adam guessed. It seemed to be working; the place was packed. There was some kind of sport playing on the multitude of television screens. Adam tried to follow to game, but he honestly just didn’t care enough. He’d come here to get out of the rain, then stayed to get drunk. And honestly, why not? He didn’t work tomorrow, and it had been a while since he’d been able to let loose a bit.

“Johnnie Walker Blue Label, a double on the rocks.”

SI’s Head of Security started at the familiar voice. He turned his head. The seat next to him at the bar had just been vacated, then just as quickly taken again. And who should it be but Francis Wendell Pritchard, because apparently Adam couldn’t have just one night to himself.

“That’s not how you order scotch,” he said, because he couldn’t help himself. Pritchard turned his head, then did a double take.

“Jensen?” he asked, tucking his hair behind his ear. Adam noticed then that it was down, and the technician was in a black tee-shirt and jeans. As his surprise wore off, Frank glared. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get scotch on the rocks,” Jensen replied, partially turning to face his colleague.

“Oh really?” Pritchard asked, as his drink arrived. He took it, and downed it definitely. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he signalled for another. “And I suppose that you consider yourself an expert, considering your rate of consumption?”

“You’re one to talk, ordering a second double,” Jensen said, wincing at the ruination of good whiskey.

“It’s the weekend,” Pritchard said. “This may come as a surprise to you, but some of us don’t drink the entirety of the week.”

“That’s probably because most of the world doesn’t have to deal with you on a daily basis,” Jensen replied. Pritchard rolled his eyes, and sipped at his second scotch.

“I could say the same of you,” he said. Then the man turned, leaning against the bar. “So tell me, monsieur connoisseur, why don’t you take scotch on the rocks?”

“It ruins the taste,” Jensen replied. “Dilutes it with whatever minerals are in the ice.”

“Are you serious?” Pritchard asked. “That’s moronic.”

“Excuse me?” Adam asked. It was, it seemed, his turn to be offended. Pritchard gestured.

“I’m trying to get drunk, and hard liquor happens to be the quickest means to the end,” he said. “Who cares about the taste?”

“How about the brewers?” Jensen said, downing his own drink and ordering another.

“I doubt they care as long as they’re getting money from it,” Pritchard replied. “Just like any other producer of goods.”

“Crafting whiskey is an art,” Jensen said, and Pritchard scoffed, finishing off his second drink and putting the glass on the bar. “Brewery masters spend years perfecting-”

“Oh horseshit,” Frank said. He seemed to be becoming more animated as the conversation went on. Effects of the alcohol? “The only people who care about that are snobs like you.” 

“Oh, I’m a snob?” Jensen asked. “Because here I thought someone thought that I was the one drinking sewer water.” 

“You do drink sewer water,” Pritchard said, ordering a beer. It was clear the man was getting buzzed. “I wouldn’t serve what you call wine to a feral nomad.”

“It’s just sour grape juice, what does it matter?” Jensen said, goading the other man on. Maybe he was getting a little tipsy himself. Pritchard slammed his beer back on the bar. 

“Sour-!” he sputtered. He pointed at Jensen accusingly. “Even a meat-head like you should be able to recognize the sophistication of a fine wine!”

“How can a drink you like be sophisticated?” Jensen replied. Pritchard threw his hands up.

“Pearls before swine, I swear!” he declared. “Wine is the royalty of alcohol! It’s a carefully constructed, delicate drink meant to entice the palate and enhance the meal it’s offered with. It’s rich in subtly and flavor. Whiskey, on the other hand, is about as subtly as a steamroller. How can you even taste anything with your throat destroyed?” 

“Last I checked, you don’t taste with your throat,” Jensen replied. He’d finished his second drink, and ordered a third. He was actually beginning to enjoy himself, not that he would tell Pritchard that. Pritchard waved, nearly hitting his colleague in the face.

“You know what I mean!” he said. “It’s distracting! But I suppose someone like you is just a glutton for pain, even when you’re enjoying yourself.” 

“Someone like me?” Jensen asked. Pritchard gestured again, drinking his beer.

“You know… someone who… beats people up, for a living,” he said. Jensen arched a brow.

“That’s not exactly my job description, you know,” he said. “Besides, my job is more making sure there isn’t anyone I need to beat up. 

“Pfft,” Pritchard replied, getting another beer. “Please. You like the danger. Why else would you have gone to SWAT?”

“I could have been trying to, I don’t know, protect people?” Jensen replied. Frank shook his head, taking another swig.

“Not good enough,” he said. “Could have become a beat cop. Some other kind of… civil servant. You like being the hero, Jensen, but not that much.”

“What makes you say that?” This had to be good. Apparently, Pritchard wasn’t very good at holding his drinks. Adam was buzzed, but Pritchard was borderline drunk.

“Because,” Frank said, pausing to have a drink, “You are like me.”

“I’m like you?” Adam asked, honestly too surprised to have any other reaction. Frank nodded.

“You like the challenge,” he said. “The… thrill of doing things other people… can’t. Or just… doing better than… than…”

The technician sighed, apparently losing his train of thought. Adam took the beer from him, making the man jump in surprise.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Jensen said, setting the beer on the bar. Pritchard pushed away from the bar, to face it.

“Who are you to say I’ve-whoa,” he said, steadying himself using Adam’s shoulder as he half stumbled forward. When he managed to get himself upright, he looked at his colleague, then away. “Perhaps you have a point.”

“Uh-huh,” Jensen said. “Are you always such a lightweight?”

“Well, excuuse me, not all of us are functioning alcoholics,” Pritchard said. “Not that it matters with an iron stomach…”

“Tell me how you really feel, Francis,” Adam said, turning to help his colleague back to leaning against the bar. Mainly because he didn’t consider balancing post a part of his job description. Even if having someone else’s heat against him had been… nice. Regardless of the person. 

“How I really…?” the question seemed to confuse the drunken technician. “What do you?” 

Adam stopped to consider. It had really just been a sarcastic remark, he hadn’t even thought about. But now he saw possibilities. So he turned, facing his colleague again. 

“What is it you think of me, Francis?” he asked, gauging the man’s reaction. Pritchard scoffed.

“I thought that was obvious,” he said, finishing off the beer . Adam rolled his eyes at that. But then he noticed his colleague was staring at the bottle. “It isn’t is it?”

“Isn’t what?” Jensen asked, twisting to look at Pritchard’s face. The other man looked at him, then blinked.

“Obvious,” he said. “That I… uh… hm.”

“That you what, Francis?” Jensen asked. Pritchard shook his head, then looked away.

“Stupid,” Frank said. Then he whipped his head around, pointing. “I’m just as good as you are, you know!”

“What?” Adam asked, taken aback by the abrupt change in attitude. Frank waved his finger around as he spoke.

“Everyone thinks you’re sush hot shit,” he said. “But I do just as mush for Sarif Indus-industrees as you! I’d like to shee you try’n shtop shomeone in tha network with your fanshee augs!”

“Alright, here we go,” Adam said, getting another drink. It was actually kind of entertaining, seeing Pritchard so… articulate.

“Jus’ cause you’ve got… good looks and… attractive voish…”

Adam nearly spit out his drink, covering his mouth to keep it in. He looked at his colleague in surprise.

“Thas why they like you, it has ta be,” he went on, seemingly unaware of what he was saying. “You don’ like people, and you’re not even… nice… so it mus be… right?”

Adam rested his chin on his hand, not really sure what to do with that. Was Pritchard, possibly, jealous? Of him? This was interesting. Jensen finished his drink. 

“You think my voice is attractive?” he asked, leaving money on the counter. He even paid for Pritchard’s drinks, because at this point, why not. Frank looked over and blinked at him, as if he’d forgotten he was there. He looked at the bottle in his hand, then back at Adam. He put the bottle down, placed a hand on his colleague’s shoulder, and leaned in.

“How mush have I had to drink?” he asked. Jensen felt himself smiling.

“Couple of whiskey doubles and a beer,” he replied. Frank nodded solemnly.

“And did I say I think your voish is shexy?” he asked. Adam drummed his fingers on the bar, unable to stop grinning. It was, he had to admit, unexpected and flattering.

“No, you did not,” he said. Frank nodded again, leaning up but not pulling away.

“Good, you’re not shupposhed to know tha’,” he said, patting Jensen’s shoulder.

“Why is that?” Adam asked.

“Becaushe you’re inshufferibibble,” Pritchard said, throwing up his hands. “Wouldn’ let me hear tha end of it.”

“You have a point there,” Adam said, standing. It seemed to unbalance Pritchard, who readjusted his grip on the other man’s shoulder.

“Goin’ shomewhere?” he asked. Jensen snorted.

“How’d you get here, Francis?” he asked.

“Mo’orshycle,” Pritchard replied.

“And how did you plan on getting home?”

“I didn’.”

Adam felt his brow raise higher than he thought it ever had before. But Pritchard had looked over to the packed little dance floor.

“Do’you… wanna dance?” he asked, looking back at Jensen. The augmented man considered. This night was certainly turning out differently than he’d expected. He nodded, leading the way to the floor.

Adam wasn’t really one for crowds, or dancing. What he was, however, was curious. So he slipped into the crowd, pulling his drunk colleague behind him, until they were both in the thick of things. There was some kind of electronic music playing, but what really hit them was the pumping bass.

To Jensen’s surprise, Pritchard could, in fact, dance. The man was fluid, lithe. He moved with the music, naturally, letting it roll over him and flow in through the soles of his feet. Adam found himself a little bit entranced, just watching the man move. And then he flinched at the feeling of hands over his. Frank moved Adam’s hands onto his waist, and leaned up to speak into his ear.

“You aren’t moving,” he said, which was true. So the head of security let his colleague guide him along. His Sentinel Health program was going to work on his inebriation already, but he still had enough to buzz to just… let go. He let himself relax, let himself move against the man in front of him. He watched him through half lidded eyes, the way the lights played on his face. The way he was watching right back, with a look like he was in a dream. Adam briefly wondered if this was something his colleague had dreamed about, and decided the thought didn’t bother him.

When Frank pressed up and kissed him, it wasn’t a surprise. It was more like a natural progression, in this case. Adam let one of his hands slide into the small of his companion’s back, and the other man pressed into him. Frank’s hands slid up Adam’s chest, to cup both sides of his face. Adam’s other hand slid down to squeeze Pritchard’s ass. The technician actually jumped a little, breaking the kiss. He met Adam’s eyes, then kissed him again, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders. Adam kept Frank pulled against him, forgetting where they were.

Until someone elbowed him in the back. And then he was reminded, and pulled back. He felt suddenly claustrophobic and overheated. Pritchard tucked his face into Adam’s neck, and the head of security also remembered just how much his colleague had had to drink. He sighed, then spoke loud enough for Pritchard to hear.

“Wanna go somewhere?” he asked. Pritchard nodded, and Jensen used his bulk and strength to push his way back out of the crowd. He was not particularly patient at this point, but that had more to do with wanting to get into his own space than anything else. He did manage to make it out of the crowd, and then pulled Pritchard along into the night air.

The technician leaned and stumbled against Adam as the head of security lead him along. Fortunately, Jensen’s apartment was only about twenty minutes away. He had no idea where Pritchard lived, but the main point was to keep the man from driving and from going home with a random stranger. And maybe make out some more because if he was being honest, Adam had really been enjoying himself with that.

They managed to stumble through Adam’s door without incident, and once the door was closed, Frank turned to lean up and kiss the other man again. Adam let the door take his weight. He could taste the booze from earlier, but it didn’t bother him at the moment. He did, however, make a decision to move to the couch before Pritchard either passed out or tried to move himself.

“Whoa,” Frank said, quietly, as Adam picked him up. His legs wrapped around the man’s waist, mostly on instinct, his arms around Jensen’s shoulders as he was carried across the room. Adam sat down on the couch, but with an affectionate drunk in his lap, it wasn’t long before sitting turned into laying down. Or to falling asleep because, hey, one of them is drunk and this is oddly comfortable.

It’s Frank that wakes up first. His head feeling like a drummers practice room and his stomach lurching like an undead monstrosity, he didn’t move at first. He also could not for the life of him remember who it was he was currently sleeping on top of. That had been the point, of course, but something in the back of his mind was telling him he was forgetting something. So, pressing his eyes a little more into his sleeping partner’s scratchy neck (huh, weird, he wasn’t usually into men with facial hair), he tried to think back.

He gone out to the Lonely Boot to get drunk and have a fling the way he usually did every couple of months (when feeling lonely and pathetic managed to outweigh his general good sense and hatred of people), and he’d started the night, as always, with a double scotch on the rocks. And then… he’d gotten in an argument. Who was he arguing with? He usually didn’t even start talking to people until he was tipsy. So then who….

The man under him was snoring. Normally, Frank found the noise of it annoying and a reason to get up, find his clothes and walk away before anyone was the wiser, but in this case, something was different. It wasn’t this loud, grating noise like an engine backfire, it was… soft. Sort of a little snuffling noise with a scoff. A scnuffle? Something like that. It was… endearing, in a way. Cute. Frank started move his arm, carefully trying to extract himself without waking his partner, when his fingers brushed something metal, or metal like.

And then it hit him.

He wanted to groan, but managed to keep himself quiet. If his head wasn’t already providing the sensation for him, he’d soon find a wall to bash his skull against. Why? Because he’d let himself get drunk around Adam fucking Jensen, and there was no telling how they had ended up… where were they, anyway?

Cautiously as he could, fighting his vicious hangover, Frank pushed himself up enough to look around. Jensen’s apartment, boxes still packed and littered around the room. The living room. Where they were both still fully clothed. Pritchard sighed in relief. Well, at least things hadn’t progressed too far. And then he actually felt a little pang at that, because he’d probably been drunk enough to just throw himself at his colleague and nothing had happened. With a softer sigh, Frank decided it was time for him to make his way home.

But when he turned, he paused. Adam looked… peaceful, when he slept. His shades retracted, his face less tense. He probably still had nightmares, but even so, he looked… happier, maybe.

Of course, it was at this moment the bastard chose to wake with a start.

The men stared at each other. Adam wondered how this had seemed like such a good idea the night before. Bringing Pritchard back to his apartment? Pritchard? Really? And he’d been the sober one! And now he’d have to explain what had happened, and hopefully he could play it off as also being drunk, and Frank wouldn’t bring up the Sentinel Health program, and-

“Uh… morning,” the man in question said. Honestly, in another situation, his deer-in-the-headlights look would have probably amused Adam. Now, however…. “Um, uh… b-breakfast?”

“Uh,” Adam said, very articulate. Breakfast, right, breakfast would have been a good distraction. If he kept anything in his kitchen other than children’s cereal and booze. Did he even have milk? Had he needed to get more? Did he have clean dishes?

“Oh, right, of course,” Pritchard said, seeming to regain some hold on himself. “I forgot you subsist entirely on bad decisions and ennui.”

And, just like that, the spell was broken.

“I’m making bad decisions?” Adam asked. Frank rolled his eyes, and gave into his pounding head by laying back down. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to react to Jensen’s hand gently carding through his hair.

“Oh, shut up, at least I was drunk,” he muttered.

“Yes, clearly, that makes planning to go home and sleep with a complete stranger so much better,” Jensen replied. He should probably get up, be a good host and get his colleague some water and an advil. He found, however, he was completely unable to force himself to do so. Maybe later, when he and Pritchard came more to their senses.

“Not all of us have the advantage of your overbearing masculine presence,” Frank shot back, and shifted to settle more comfortably against the man beneath him. If he was going to stay and cuddle with his antagonistic co worker, he might as well enjoy it.

“Mm, or a sexy and attractive voice?” Adam asked. Frank made a noise of both surprise and embarrassment, something of a deep indignant squeak.

“I-! Ugh, I don’t even have a defense for that,” the technician said, and it made Adam chuckle. Pritchard was surprised to find he liked that sound.

“No? Well, maybe you could regale me about how else you secretly find me attractive,” he said. Frank weakly hit his shoulder.

“Don’t be an ass, some of us still get hangovers,” the man said. Adam laughed again, letting his eyes slip closed. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. He might as well enjoy this. And then he smirked, a truly devilish thought occurring to him.

“Then would you rather I tell you how I find you attractive?” he asked. Frank hit him again, harder this time.

“I’d appreciate it if you just dropped the subject,” he said.

“But then I couldn’t talk about your eyes being limpid pools of desire,” Adam replied. Frank pushed himself up enough to glare. Adam just grinned, like a mischievous child. That really shouldn’t be endearing.

“Really? That’s the best you can do? Limpid pools of desire?” the technician asked. Adam blinked a little owlishly, then snorted. He still smiled, but there was something more… sincere, about it. Something kind. His hand dragged gently through the back of Pritchard’s hair, which felt divine, not that he’d ever tell the insufferable man. He had a feeling he really didn’t need to, though.

“Alright, then,” Jesen said, softer. “Then how about I like you?”

“… don’t patronize me,” Frank said, starting to get up. An arm wrapped around his waist to stop him.

“Stubborn, sarcastic, cynical, short tempered and a general pain in the ass,” Jensen said.

“Well, thank you, Jensen, I feel flattered,” Frank said, but he knew the man wasn’t done. Jensen was quiet, so Pritchard gave in and looked at him.

“You care a lot more than you want people to know, don’t you?” Adam asked. The question caught Frank off-guard. And it clicked. Jensen hadn’t been insulting him, he’d been listing his walls. All the ways he kept people at a distance. Frank tried coming up with a biting remark that would turn this around. He noticed how close their faces were, and wondered how Adam would react if they kissed. Again. Sober. And Adam seemed to think it, too, eyes darting down to Pritchard’s lips and back up.

He couldn’t do this, not now.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said instead, laying his head back down. Adam didn’t press him, and he was grateful for that. He’d leave later, and pretend none of this had ever happened. Adam would move on to some pretty woman, and forget this conversation.

Except he didn’t. And Adam became a regular at the bar, and whenever Frank got too drunk (which was why he went to the bar every couple of months in the first place), he ended up in Adam’s apartment. They never did anything, but Frank was starting to wonder what would happen if they did. And the apartment was getting cleaner and unpacked. The kitchen was stocked. Granted, it was only stocked with breakfast food, but it was stocked. Raging hangovers became regular hangovers. Awkward wake up conversations became breakfast. Collapsing on the couch became slipping into bed. Before Frank had quite realized what had happened, he was in a relationship with his, as it turned out, not so unagreeable co worker. Colleague. Boyfriend.

And he was, he found, surprisingly alright with that.


End file.
